Souzou no Shiroi Suisen

BY : setsubou tsugunai
Category: Rurouni Kenshin > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1543
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Disclaimer: All
characters and scenarios belong to all copyright holders of Rurouni Kenshin.


Souzou no Shiroi Suisen

A little vignette of warmth and companionship in honor of
the 136th anniversary of the death of the Sekihoutai and Sagara Souzou, March 2
and 3, 1868, respectively.



The early morning air was bracing, but not so cold as he remembered
it eleven years ago.

Katsu hunched inward to bring the fronts of his haori
tighter against the chill as he walked down the empty, narrow street. In one hand, he carried a jug of the
finest sake he could find; in the other, the first of the waning winter’s
daffodils, just unfurled from their buds to catch the morning sun’s first rays.

He had always spent these days alone. He had never needed a calendar to tell him
they had come around again. They were
burned into his memory, branded onto his soul.
Heart overruled head and he had endured the time with nothing to
dissuade him from remembering, nothing to draw him out, and nothing more
important. Anyone lucky or unlucky
enough to be associated with him came to understand that for two days out of
each year, Tsukioka Tsunan traveled in the footsteps of the dead.

But this year… This
year he would not journey alone.

Coming to his destination, Katsu didn’t bother to ask for
permission to enter. None would be
given --- not out of grievance, but because the occupant simply wouldn’t
hear. He knew because he knew himself. In all other things, he and Sanosuke might
be different, but not in this. The same
nightmare plagued them. The same mark
scarred their souls. Both sought escape
in vain.

Sagara Sanosuke.
Katsu smiled at the lump huddled beneath the futon’s blankets. Shedding his
haori and kimono, he stepped over the still form and gingerly eased under the
cover behind Sanosuke. It was warm,
like a cocoon, and felt good as the heat spread over his cool skin.

It wasn’t enough, though, to soothe his troubled
spirit. With care, Katsu lifted the
blankets and moved them down to expose the head and bare torso. It amused him to see where the headband
normally encircled the mass of wild hair --- like the difference between where
Sanosuke’s chest remained naked to the sun and was covered in wrappings, his
hair spiked above the line of the headband and flowed loosely beneath. It was growing long and shaggy, long enough
to rest atop the white jacket instead of slipping underneath, and Katsu’s
fingers itched to touch it. He reached

Sanosuke shifted, turning a gaze soft with longing on him.

There had never been any time when they were boys, their
time together too brief. The natural
explorations they would have indulged in had been denied by the need to be one
step ahead of the Imperial Army. In the
earliest hours of a Tokyo morning of Meiji 11, no Imperial Army threatened… no
orders scheduled the hours… no maneuvers awaited them.

Two heads leaned into a chaste, tentative kiss.

In the back of his mind, Katsu idly wondered if the cool
moon defined him still as he felt the warmth of the sun on Sanosuke’s lips; as
he saw the light shining in the expressive eyes looking back at him now. Sinking into their softness, he was suddenly
aware only of the feel of smooth skin over hard muscle as his hand skimmed over
a broad shoulder to caress down the length of Sanosuke’s arm. He was conscious of no other thought than
the keening directive to bring the hand he now held in his own to the need
growing between his legs.

“Sano?” he prompted.

“Katsu… you idiothe the voice returned, husky with shared
desire as Sanosuke followed through to grasp at the hardness beckoning him.

Lust became daggers plunging into the vulnerability of his
sex as Katsu thrilled to the feel of the strong hand squeezing and pulling at
him through the cloth. He grunted
through the searching kiss until Sanosuke eased up, giving him time to sigh
when he understood the meaning behind the action. The obi was loosened, just enough to get the trousers eased down
and give access to the fundoshi.
Sanosuke didn’t pause even long enough to feel him through one less
layer, but ventured on to free Katsu completely of all barriers between them.

Echoing through the small room, a sharp gasp broke the thick
quiet, elicited by the sudden contact of hot, hardened flesh brushing along the
length of Katsu’s erect cock, awakening his body to a world he had only lived
vicariously through his art. Katsu came
alive and tore the blankets from their bodies, letting the pale dawn light
reveal the richness of the act of love.

Nakedness made them equals.
Size and shape were of a kind, youth still rs trs to revel in, the
yearnin wan want and need as strong in one as the other. Moving against each other, seeking the
inevitable fulfillment that would come, chased away the cool of the air and
kept them warm. It would not last…
could not last… but neither cared as they began the fast ascent towards the
fall into bliss.

Kisses wandered over lips, across faces, and down necks,
returning to mouths newly hungered to send tongues sweeping and searching for
new tastes, new sensations. Hands
bumped and pushed as they eagerly sought new territory to touch, to rub, to
grab hold of. Delving fingers explored
until there was nothing new to explore.

Katsu shivered at an unexpected loss of warmth. He smiled at its return and at the daffodil
Sanosuke held before him. A droplet of
water hit his heated skin and he jerked, garnering him a wicked smile from

With silent, slow deliberation, Sanosuke dragged the flower
over Katsu’s face. Kisses followed in
its wake, a soft tongue leaving a damp trail as it passed over his chin and
began the inexorable journey downwards.
Katsu relaxed, for once content to let himself enjoy. For once, nothing else mattered but this
indulging of his senses. He closed his
eyes to the piercing erotic pain swelling in his nipples as the flower and then
the lips and tongue traveled over them… giving voice to the dull ache that came
with their hardening as soon as the air hit them. When the concentration of pleasure swirled around the flat of his
belly, Katsu raised his head just enough to open his eyes and watch with
fascination as the daffodil was turned on the center of his existence.

No shunga could ever capture the perfect image. Katsu groaned with an artist’s frustration
and the pain of the loving torture. The
long petals caressed his throbbing flesh while he ached and thrust at the
cutting tickle of the sharp frills at the trumpet’s edge until he could no
longer bear to look. He gritted his
teeth when the soft points reached the glans and skimmed over it before his
skin was pulled back. His breath caught
suddenly and his head snapped up. Eyes
flared open with disbelief and exquisite pleasure at the feel of the hard
stamen entering the tiny opening at the tip as the wide blossom spread to
swallow him.

“Kami!” he screamed, feeling a sudden, unstoppable

He was only vaguely aware of being released from the
flower’s hold of him as the world inside his head turned blindingly white. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes and
quickly ebbed away. Heat flooded
through him as his thoughts coalesced again and his mind signaled that new
warmth was bathing him. He opened his
eyes to Sanosuke milking his own cock, mixing his seed with Katsu’s as he

A final moan, one of contentment, rumbled low in Katsu’s
throat. What a single shunga could not
convey, an enpon might just begin to encompass. Katsu looked at the lean, fit body coming to rest beside him and
smiled. With what he could make off
such a work of art, his printer could be happy for the next year and still have
enough to pay the way to Kyoto how ever many times Sanosuke got it in hea head
to go.

“What’s funny?”
Sanosuke asked, noticing the unusual smile.

“Nothing. Just

“Thinking? You can
still think?”

The furls of the daffodil’s trumpet tickled against his skin
as it was traced across his cheek in deliberately torturous strokes. Katsu smiled even more, unable to prevent
the giggle that escaped at the feel of it along his sensitized lips. He was happy… on a day he had never expected
to be happy again.

“Where did you find daffodils like these?” Sanosuke asked,
long fingers toying with the creamy petals once he stopped his teasing.

“Outside the Koshima estate wall… down by that little
stream.” Katsu turned his head to see
if there was any sign the day would turn cloudy after all. “Remember?”

“Of course I remember.
How could I forget?” Sanosuke
dropped onto his back, still tracing the lines of the flower’s petals, his mind
going back into time. “Just before we
left with Taichou to head south. His
mother packed a small feast for the three of us. Damn… I swear I can still taste it.”

“Who knew it would turn so cold after such a warm
beginning,” Katsu mused, the first sadness creeping back in

“It’s no good, Katsu.”
Sanosuke lowered the blossom and rested his hand atop his belly. Raising his other hand, he rubbed at eyes
still tired from the early waking.
“Taichou wouldn’t want us to be sad.
Nothing’ll make it right again… it’ll always stink of betrayal… but he
wouldn’t want us to remember him with tears.
He’d want us to remember the happiness we all had.”

“But it’s not that easy,
Sano. Not for me.”

“For you, too, Katsu.”
Rolling onto his side to face his friend, Sanosuke brushed back the long
hair from Katsu’s face. “He always wanted
the same things for both of us.
Cricket-face may be right. Maybe
I am a moron. But not about this. I know I’m right about needing to let the
dead rest. Only you and me can give him
peace and we can only do that by getting on with life… BOTH of us. All he wanted was for us to be happy.”

Katsu rested graceful fingers against his bared forehead and
shook his head in denial. “Everything’s
always been easier for you.”

“Kuso…” replied Sanosuke, his tone soft with hurt and not
the harshness of anger. He pulled
Katsu’s hand away and kissed the palm.
“Don’t ever think that. It
hasn’t been easy for me. The only way I
could deal with it was to fight and when I couldn’t fight, to get drunk. But it’s different this time. The past year… it’s taught me so much. Kenshin reclaimed Taichou’s faith that
things WOULD get better. Saitou showed
me there’s a way to make sure it happens.
Shinomori gave me hope that even the toughest enemy can see reason. It’s like being returned to where time
stopped… because with all that, I’ve got my friend back, too.”

Giving Sanosuke a bittersweet smile, Katsu answered the
cherished thought by playing with the errant strands falling over Sanosuke’s
face. He was happy for Sanosuke’s sake,
for being here with him, but… “They’re your friends, Sano… not mine.”

“If you’re my friend, they’re yours, too.” Contorting his face into exaggerated
exasperation, Sanosuke sighed dramatically.
“I forget what an idiot you always were.”

“Taichou always said we were more alike than we realized,”
Katsu reminded with a grin.

“If you’re gonna start thinking like that creepy cop, you
can just leave.”

Sanosuke shuddered, as if that was enough to dispel the
Wolf’s presence, but both men knew the Shinsengumi captain had come to fill the
very large, very empty hole left in Sanosuke’s spirit with Sagara’s death… that
losing Saitou to the inferno of Shishio’s arena had hit on too many
memories. It had pained Katsu to see
the warring emotions reflected in Sanosuke’s eyes when he had stopped by on his
way to Shinshuu and told him Saitou truly was immortal. The happiness was clear enough --- hope had
been restored that to love him didn’t have to mean a death sentence --- but
Katsu had seen the confusion, too… the look that said it wasn’t fair that one
beloved mentor had been returned while the other remained lost to him.

Katsu turned to lie face to face with Sanosuke. Everything, it seemed, exacted a price. It occurred to him that he was wrong to
think of Sanosuke only in terms of Sagara Souzou and the past. Sanosuke was a man now, with a direction to
go. A brilliant intellect he might not
be, but Sagara had loved him no less… had put no less faith in Sanosuke’s potential
than he had in the studious, quiet boy he had also taken under his wing and
nurtured into a warrior. Sanosuke was
smart enough to justify Sagara’s interest, if only in his capacity of heart and
spirit. While it was true Katsu might
never wield lethal fists against the corrupt to protect Japan, his images and
words could rain deadly blows where Sanosuke, or even Saitou or Himura, could
not reach.

Like the white daffodils thpillpilled down from Sagara’s
home to reach the brook beyond, he and Sanosuke could propagate the beauty of
his vision beyond the past and into the future. Sagara had demanded that they survive and had trusted them to
obey. The lessons of childhood behind
them now, Sanosuke had characteristically taken the first step into the legacy
left to them by their martyred her.her.
It was Katsu’s turn to follow and take his place at Sanosuke’s
side. It was time for him to start
thinking in terms of what they could do and forget what might have been.

Today, Katsu decided.
Today… the second day of March --- the Sekihoutai would be reborn out of
blood and grief and take its place… where it had always belonged… building a new Japan that would send its
beauty across the oceans, expanding its horizons with nothing more than the
spirit and love of two surviving students of a man who had refused to put his
own honor above that of his country’s.
The Sekihoutai would begin anew, as young and refreshed as Katsu felt
now, with new ideas and new purpose.

Looking at Sanosuke slowly fading back into sleep, Katsu
couldn’t help thinking Sagara was watching them and smiling. He retrieved the daffodil from Sanosuke’s
lax hand and grazed a finger along the protruding stamen. The finger came away yellow. Katsu smiled again and wondered at the
color. To Sanosuke he would give the
first copy of his enpon, and for the yellow that would predominate, Katsu would
find a way to bind the daffodil’s pollen to its surface.


Notes ---

Translation of the title --- Souzou’s White Daffodils

The “tsuki” of Katsu’s name, Tsukioka, means moon.

Sagara’s birth name was Koshima Shirou, the son of a wealthy
family. He was born in Akasaka, which I
believe is somewhat southwesterly in Tokyo.
I am assuming the Koshima family would have had an estate there --- at
least that is where I am putting it for this story.

A shunga is an individual picture of erotic content. It means “images of spring,” naturally
enough since that is when love universally blooms. An enpon is a book of erotic images. Both were popular as entertainment and sexual instruction from
before the Tokugawa Era and into the Meiji, although they lost some ofir
“acceptability” during the Meiji Era and many shunga and enpon were
destroyed. If you are interested in
seeing what these images were like, visit the Degener Japanese Fine Arts Gallery
site at . You will be amazed at the variety of sexual practices. They beat Playboy to the market on erotic
calendars, too. Visit the other pages
of the site while you are there.
Japanese art is uniquely beautiful.
The images on the site may change since the prints are also for sale.

A censored, R-rated version of this story is archived at
The fulC-17C-17-rated version was released to the following
yahoogroups: kenshin_yaoi_fanfiction
and sanas_yl. To archive anywhere else,
please contact me first at .




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